The Blogger and the Assassin
by Joanne Lupin
Summary: They say that misery loves company. After three years without any, a mysterious stranger shows John Watson that he's not alone.
1. Chapter 1

As John stood in line for coffee, he couldn't help but deduce the man in front of him. He used the skills he learned from Sherlock because, as painful as it was to remember the consulting detective, it would be even more painful to lose all of him. Deducing was one way to keep that strenuous tie.

This man- the one in front of John- was tall. Well he was tall to John. In reality, he was probably a little more than average height. He had a tan similar to John's own. His brown hair was cropped close to his head. He held himself upright, but with a cautious, ready air. When something in the kitchen made a loud bang, he started and reached for his something unseen before shaking his head and breathing deeply. _A military man, then. His hands don't move or fidget- they're still. A sniper, maybe. _

Then the man turned slightly so John could see his face. There was a look in his eye- haunted, weary, and disturbingly familiar. _He's lost someone important. _

The man seemed to catch sight of John then. His eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry… Do I know you?" John asked, puzzled.

"No, you don't," the man replied. His voice was deep and rough, and there was currently a note of what almost sounded like fear.

"I couldn't help but notice- military?"

The man nodded awkwardly. "Army."

"Me too! I was a doctor. I was discharged because of an injury." He gestured to his cane. The limp had come back after…

John cleared his throat, then held out his hand. "John Watson."

The man hesitated before he took it. "Sebastian Moran."

-o0o-

Sebastian seemed reluctant to talk at first, but John was persistent, and soon the two of them were chatting over their coffee. Sebastian, it seems, had had a friend as close to him as Sherlock was close to John- and this friend seemed to be quite a bit like Sherlock. He was a genius, rather arrogant, and seemingly unfeeling. The friend- Tim, Seb said- had died the same day as Sherlock. Oddly enough, sharing stories seemed to cheer them both up. By the time they left the coffee shop, they'd exchanged phone numbers and made arrangements to go to drinking that Friday.

For the first time in almost three years, John felt connected to _someone._

-o0o-

One morning, a couple months later, at some ungodly hour, there was a knock at John's door. (John was living in a new flat, but he still had some of Sherlock's stuff.) He opened it to find Sebastian, breathless and sweating.

"John, I'm sorry to wake you up like this, but I need a place to hide. Someone's after me."

"What? Why?"

"It… It's a long story," Seb replied sheepishly.

John let his new friend inside and locked the door behind him. "Why don't you tell me over tea?"

Seb sighed and nodded. He went over to sit in a chair, but before he could, John shouted, "Don't!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sebastian jumped away from the chair.

"No, it's okay," John sighed. "It's just… that was his chair…"

"Ah."

They sat at the table with their tea. "So?" John prompted.

"So what?"

"So why are you being chased?"

"Oh… Well, John, Tim had a… a lot of enemies. And I helped him make quite a few of them. We were partners in crime, as it were. And many of Tim's enemies are after me now…" He was quiet for a moment as he stared into his tea. "He wasn't really bad, at heart. He just… was hard to understand. When you did, though, it was hard not to like him… even love him."

John put a sympathetic hand on Sebastian's shoulder. Then, suddenly, the front door was smashed open. Seb reached for a gun in a hidden holster. A familiar voice shouted, "You can't hide forever, Moran!" A man rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze. John stood. _Impossible. It can't be-_

"Sherlock?"


	2. Chapter 2

**This part has TRIGGERS for suicide. BE WARNED.**

"John! What are you doing with _him_?"

"Him? You mean Sebastian? He's my friend!"

"Friend? John, this is Moriarty's top assassin!"

John rounded on Seb, who was still pointing his gun at Sherlock. "Is that true?"

"John, I-"

"He was 'Tim,' wasn't he?"

"Yes, but John, you don't understand!"

"He tried to blow me up, you know."

"Your _friend _was going to do worse than that," Sherlock growled. "He was going to shoot you on Moriarty's orders… unless I killed myself."

John stared at Sherlock. "Oh, god…" This was almost too much to take in.

"But… how did you survive?" Sebastian asked. There was desperate hope in his tone.

"I have my ways."

"And Jim?"

"Dead."

Sebastian collapsed into his seat without a sound and stared into space. John and Sherlock watched, not knowing what to do.

"I… I'm sorry," John murmured.

"You're not,"' Sebastian replied brokenly, "but thanks."

"Listen, Moran," Sherlock snarled, still holding his gun. Before Sherlock could continue, Sebastian seemed to notice his presence.

"_You,_" the assassin hissed, raising his weapon again. "You were the one that killed him. You're the reason he's dead."

"Yes, I am," replied Sherlock coldly. "He and his network of assassins are dead to prevent innocent lives from being lost. You're the last one left, Moran."

"You don't mean that… that you're going to kill him?" John asked incredulously.

"That was the plan, yes."

"You can't!" the blogger protested. "He's my friend!"

"Thank you, John," Sebastian said, defeated, "but it's over now. I don't have anything left any more."

"Seb-"

"No. Don't try to tell me I can't turn myself in. Jim isn't coming back. And I'll be reminded of that every day until I die. I don't want that."

The three stood in grave silence for a moment.

"John, you should be the one to call Lestrade. As far as he knows, I'm dead."

"You won't shoot him?" John asked, shocked.

"Not unless he tries to get away."

John locked eyes with Seb, who nodded. Then he went to make a phone call.

-o0o-

One week into Sebastian Moran's life sentence, he was found dead in his cell next to a handmade knife and a note saying only, "I'm coming."

-o0o-

When John heard the news, he couldn't believe it. He sat down in his chair and stared into space, reliving. When he ended the call, Sherlock asked him what was wrong.

"Seb… Seb killed himself."

"Oh."

After a few seconds of silence, John felt thin arms around him.

"…Sherlock?"

The consulting detective's voice was shakier than John had ever heard it.

"Did you ever think about it?"

John gently pushed Sherlock away, but he couldn't meet his eyes.

"Yes, sometimes."

"Thank you."

John stared at him. "For what?"

"For staying."

John smiled and put a hand on Sherlock's arm.

"Thank _you _for coming back."


End file.
